


Overslept

by conceptofzero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up in an unfamiliar bed isn’t usually a problem for Slick. Hell, most of the time, waking up outside of his bedroom is great news. It means he got laid last night, and usually means he’s about to get laid again if they’re not thoroughly sick of him. </p>
<p>Waking up in all-too-familiar bed, on the other hand, is a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overslept

**Author's Note:**

> A much belated birthday present for Spike.

Waking up in an unfamiliar bed isn’t usually a problem for Slick. Hell, most of the time, waking up outside of his bedroom is great news. It means he got laid last night, and usually means he’s about to get laid again if they’re not thoroughly sick of him. 

Waking up in all-too-familiar bed, on the other hand, is a problem. All he has to do is open his eyes, see the garish green room, and he knows in an instant he’s in Snowman’s room. His head aches a little and so does his body, still feeling the after-effects of rough sex. He’s stuck to the sheets in a few places and has to carefully peel the cloth away from his fresh wounds. 

Snowman’s gone, and that strikes Slick as odd. She usually sleeps in as late as she can, and he always leaves before she wakes up. His brain is still fuzzy as he glances at one of the many clocks littering her bedroom (even in here, he can’t escape the fucking things). All of that sleepiness disappears the moment he sees the time: 10am.

He should have been out of here five hours ago at latest, before any of those dumbfucks downstairs woke up. Slick rips the rest of the sheet off of him and quickly heads to the window, looking out. The Van’s parked about a mile off, between a few too-convenient sand dunes that he’s pretty sure were designed just to hide it, either by Snowman or more likely by her creepy fucking boss for reasons he can’t figure out. 

Normally, he would get dressed and go climbing down the mansion and head out to the van. But even if he did manage to get through the fucking desert during hottest point of the day, dressed entirely in black to fucking boot, then he’d still be a sitting duck the moment any of the Felt looked out of any of the fucking hundreds of windows facing out and decided that maybe that black spot against the bright pink sand was maybe Spades Slick. 

“Fuck.” He mutters, backing away from the window. Unless something happened, Slick was stuck here until Snowman came back, or until night fell and he could sneak out without someone spotting him. 

Slick heads to the door, tempted to stick his head out and see if he can spot her. He catches himself before he opens it though, gritting his teeth as he remembers Fin and Trace. If he sticks his head out, one of those fuckers will see it at one point or another. Might as well throw himself out the window and make a run for it; he’d have better odds of making it a mile than having his past or future trail unseen by those fucks in their own home. 

There’s no other way for him to get her attention besides walking out. He’s stuck waiting on her. Slick glances back at the bloody bedsheets, and then down at his wounds, which have little white fibers sticking out of some of them. He tries to pull them out, grimacing and giving up. Maybe she’s got something in her bathroom to help. 

Slick can’t risk taking a shower, since somebody might hear him. She’s got a whole bunch of towels and other shit that he’s not afraid to use though, scrubbing him and his wounds clean. When she sees he’s fucked up her neat bathroom, she’s going to be pissed, and he grins just thinking about how angry she’ll be. The grin quickly dies when he realizes she doesn’t have any fucking bandages or anything in the washroom. Of course she wouldn’t; she has an in-house doctor who would have all that shit. There’s not much he can do, but he doesn’t want to bleed all over his clothes if any of ‘em start leaking away. 

Luckily, there’s a bathrobe behind the door. It’s too big on Slick and drags on the floor a little, but it’s comfortable and it’ll do. He ties it around him and walks out of the bathroom, leaving the mess for Snowman to find. They’ve got to have servants or something in this place, so it’s not like she’ll have to clean it up or anything. She’ll just be angry about it because that’s how she lives her life. 

It’s 10:30am and Snowman’s still nowhere to be seen. Slick fidgets, glancing around. He could go back to sleep and kill time until she showed up or until the sun set, but he’s not tired anymore. Slick decides to go poking around to see what he can find to kill time with. She probably spends a ton of time in here when she’s sick of the Felt, so there’s got to be something amusing. 

There’s nothing. He finds books, but they’re all dense political thrillers set on Derse or Prospit full of court politics that he got sick of when he was living through the fucking things. There’s a radio, but he can’t fucking listen to it, since somebody might hear it. There’s a tea pot and tea, and a fucking unreasonable amount of revolver ammunition in one drawer of her dresser, and then nothing but clothing. He has no right to be shocked by the amount of it when he knows what a clotheshorse she is, but he’s still shocked at how huge her closet it, and how full it is, not counting the stand-alone wardrobe and the dressers. 

He does turn up a package of fancy foofy cookies to eat with tea that he scarfs down, since he’s feeling hungry and there’s no chance of him eating anytime soon. Slick sits on her bed while munching on them, getting crumbs in her bed. Not that it matters - the sheets are a mess and they’ll have to be changed, so the crumbs will disappear before they can really have a chance to piss her off. Glancing at the clock just depresses him; he’s tossed her whole room and it’s still not anywhere near noon. This day is going to take forever. 

When he finishes eating, he realizes he should probably let Droog know he’s fine. There’s an unplugged phone on her vanity and he puts the jack back into the wall, picking up the receiver and putting his finger in the dial. He stops when he realizes that the line’s in use, sitting down and listening in instead. 

“-yeah, you like that don’t you. I put my mouth on your shoulder and I start chewing on your shell.” A voice says, sounding like he’s mid-jerking. It takes Slick a moment to realize that he probably is, and that it’s Fin. 

“Oh baby, that feels so... sexy.” The woman he’s having phone sex doesn’t sound too into it, but it doesn’t sound like Fin cares. “And dangerous?”

“Yeah, yeah real dangerous. I bet you’re scared. I can hear your heart beating faster. I start to bite down-” Slick can’t roll his eyes hard enough, catching himself just before he says anything into the phone. He hangs up and unplugs the phone. No wonder she doesn’t bother keeping this thing on. 

He ends up reading one of the books, flipping around to find the juicy bits once he realizes there’s porn in those otherwise dry looking tombs. This part is what he always wanted his job on Derse to be like; lots of tense furtive fucking in offices and dark storage rooms. The reality was a lot less sexy, since the most he ever got at work was a half-assed handjob that was broken up the moment guards got too close to their position. 

The afternoon wears on. Slick exhausts his patience while trying to read the juicy bits, giving up after the fifth book. He just ends up lying on her bed, waiting for her to come back. Every once in awhile, he can hear stuff happening in other parts of the house, loud crashes or yelling, or music or just somebody running through the hall. If it was silent, he’d make a run for it, but each noise is another reminder there are people outside. 

Slick tries playing solitare to pass the time, but his cards keep switching into weapons and it makes it hard to keep playing when every other time he moves a card around, it ends up turning into a knife and he has to remember if this is the fucking five of diamonds or the four of spades. He gives up, cramming his cards into his jacket and falling asleep on her bed, dozing just to pass the time. 

He wakes up when Snowman punches him in the chest. Slick’s not ready for it and he ends up falling out of the bed, a few knives and cards landing in and on the floor around him. He sits up quick, hands going for the knives before he realizes who it is. “Fuck, it’s about time you got back-”

“Lower your voice.” Snowman hisses at him, lifting Slick off the floor and dropping him on the bed. It’s still light out and a glance at the clock shows he’s only been asleep for two hours. “Why the hell are you still here?”

“I woke up too late to make a break for it.” He lowers his voice reluctantly, climbing back onto the bed. Slick scratches himself, watching her eyes narrow further as he rubs his junk against the inside of the robe. His stomach rumbles loudly. “Can you get me something to eat, or get me out of here already? I’m so fucking bored and I can’t do shit.” 

“Maybe you should remember to wake up next time.” She’s throughly unsympathtic, giving him another prod in the chest. “Instead of lazing about all day and making a mess.” 

“Whoopty-fucking-do, so now somebody needs to clean it. How sad.” Slick rolls his eyes, lounging back on the bed. Snowman isn’t too pleased and she drags him off the bed, letting him hit the floor hard. He gets up and in her face, snarling as quietly as he can. “So who’s being fucking quiet now?” 

“I’m not the one who has to worry about what they’ll do to me if they come in and find us here.” Snowman grins and Slick sours further. She grabs hold of the robe and yanks it off of him, making a face when she sees the bloodstains in the back. “Really Slick?” 

“What? You live with a fucking tailor, have him make you a new one.” Slick calls out after her as she walks away with the robe. He’s pulling his pants up when she comes out of the bathroom, and he can’t help but grin at the look on her face. “Have him make new towels too.” 

“I should throw you out the window right now and let them chase you out to the van.” Snowman strides over to him and Slick thinks for a moment that maybe she will do just that. But she just backs him into the bed, and when he falls down on it, she straddles him. “Or you can find some other way for us to pass the time until nightfall.” 

“I can think of a few things that can pop up- wait, no. Not pop. Rise? No, shit wait, it’s a few things that come to my head. I mean- fuck it, let’s just screw.” Slick helps her work her dress up over her head, fumbling a bit with the clasps on her bra. Snowman’s got her fingers on his pants, opening them when she pauses. “What?” 

“What’s on my bed?” She asks, and her voice is just cold as ice. He glances over at the collection of crumbs. 

“Uh.” Slick looks up at her, trying to give her a charming smile. “I got hungry and ate your tea biscuits.” 

Her hands aren’t undoing his pants anymore, and the look on her face isn’t what you could call ‘seductive’. Slick struggles to think of something to say to fix this. 

“It’s just some crumbs.” He settles on, still fussing with her bra. “We can just pull the cover up and shake that shit out later.”

That’s apparently the wrong thing to say, because she chucks him out the window, followed by his shirt, coat, shoes and belt. One shoe gets stuck on one of the many smalls roofs on his way down, and his jacket gets snagged on an eaves. Slick barely manages to grab onto the jacket and gets it off, sliding down the drainpipe rather than landing head-first in the dirt. 

“Fuck you too!” Slick yells up at her, grabbing his stuff. Snowman just slams her window shut and turns away, giving him a second or two to admire how great her ass is before he has to make a run for the van.


End file.
